Kaede imagined herself to be an inferior breed of Shinobi.

This was a belief that had been disproved many times, directly or indirectly, by the few the girl looked up to: Her parents, her former senseis at the academy, her current sensei now…

Even the Hokage seemed to think her exceptional.

Yet, when contrasted against her teammates, the civilian-born girl simply could not find it in her heart to believe herself to be anything but dull.

Tatsuya, for his numerous flaws and blatant disregard for the Shinobi Way, outstripped her with an almost casual disregard. It didn’t matter how hard she trained, studied or pined, he continued to remain steps ahead of her in nearly every facet that mattered.

Yet, as if to add salt to injury was the mere existence of Uchiha Itachi. A boy a few years her junior, yet everything she aspired to be as a Shinobi. Talented, aloof, lethal, Kaede could go on and on, for days—weeks even—listing all the traits she envied him for. Even their sensei was a figure that seemingly fell out of a scroll of legends.

It was maddening to be surrounded by such latent greatness, yet fully aware it would forever remain just beyond her reach.

For a long time, Kaede pondered this dilemma of hers. Then, one day, like a bolt of lightning, the answer came to her.

Truly, she was an inferior breed of Shinobi.

Compared to the average civilian Genin who shared the same middling stock she got her talents from, Kaede might have been something of substance. Remarkable. But, when the comparisons start to include the likes of Itachi and Tatsuya, Kaede suddenly finds herself not that remarkable.

Mediocre.

It was then that she first truly comprehended the unfairness of the world.

Why?

Why should they be able to achieve tenfold the result with half the effort?

Why them?

Why not her?

Perhaps, it was unfair to the boys, but slowly, with each passing day she watched them unknowingly make a mockery of her efforts, she hated them just a little bit more.

Itachi, perhaps, she hated the most.

“Pace yourself,” the younger boy scolded as he, perhaps disdainfully, sidestepped her attempt to punch him in the face.

Kaede tried again, spinning on her right sole to kick him at the side of his head. Sandals met palm with a dull smack that accomplished nothing and Kaede found herself precariously off-balance, at the mercy of the hateful boy.

The Uchiha held her gaze with placid eyes for a long moment before callously kicking her other leg clear from under her. She dropped face-first into the forest litter; the fall was nowhere as painful as it was humiliating.

“Get up,” Itachi ordered coldly.

For a moment, Kaede simply wanted to ignore him. What good were all her efforts if nothing came of it; if it was truly hopeless, why not give up? Besides, she was the team lead, not him. He had little right to be ordering her around like he was the boss.

But then…

“I expected this from Tatsuya, not you,” Itachi said as he turned to leave, seemingly done with her

The comparison enraged Kaede. Growling, she rose to her feet and marched after him. “What did you say?” she hissed as she grabbed him by his high collar. In the distance, Tatsuya drew a sharp intake of air, surprised. The sound only served to heighten her anger.

Even more enraging perhaps was Itachi’s response. His left brow arched as he managed to look down on her despite being nearly a whole head shorter. “What are you planning to do?” he asked, his tone still frigid. “Don’t be foolish Kaede; let go of my shirt.”

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The stare-off lasted several seconds before Kaede finally deferred to reason. It was only then she realised she was hyperventilating, her face flushed from exertion, anger and embarrassment all at once.

…That was stupid, She thought to herself as she backed away. What was she going to do? Get her ass handed to her again?

Itachi watched her for a few moments longer. “Don’t let that happen again, Team Lead,” he warned as he departed. “We’ll continue the spar when you calm down.”

“Uh, Kaede?” Tatsuya, the guileless fool called, breaking the solemn silence that followed. “Are you—”

“Shut up!”

Kaede stormed off into the woods, unwilling to remain alone with the fool. Five minutes later, she found another clearing where she could be alone.

When Yuna-sensei asked afterwards, she assured the woman that she most definitely did not cry while she was away.

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The next week was probably the most awkward of Kaede’s life.

Having to deal with Sensei Yuna’s scolding after her outburst, Tatsuya’s puzzled glances and Itachi’s bland indifference only worsened the dislike she felt for her team.

When they finally arrived at their mission location, Kaede found herself already exhausted and eager to complete their task and return home.

“Welcome to my store, Shinobi,” their client, a kindly old business owner, greeted them with a bow after Yuna Sensei introduced them all to him. “Please, come in.”

Nakamura Jiro, sold rice and wheat as was obvious from the copious amount that sat in bags in his shop. Kaede’s gaze flickered about the neatly organized shelves as they were escorted inside. Business seemed to be going well; it was understandable then why local strongmen seemed to have chosen him—and others like him in the area—as targets for their racketeering scheme.

Team Nine was invited to the store owner’s home hidden at the back of the shop. It was a modest place, with all the amenities an old couple could need to live comfortably and nothing more. The rice seller’s wife, Mito, welcomed them in the Tatami room with cups of green tea and some Mochi.

“Tell us about your problem, Nakamura-san,” Yuna Sensei said as she ate one of the snacks, non-verbally informing them that it was safe to consume.

“Shinobi-san,” Nakamura began, his voice barely above a whisper, “I have lived my life by the principles of hard work and honesty. I provide for my family and serve my community, and I’ve always believed that if I do right by others, they will do right by me.” He paused, his brow furrowing. “But now, I find myself in a situation I cannot resolve on my own.”

Yuna-sensei remained silent, allowing the man to unburden himself at his own pace.

“For several weeks now,” Nakamura continued, “a group of thugs has been demanding payments from me—‘protection money,’ they call it. They claim they are ensuring that my business remains safe, but in truth, they are nothing more than extortionists. If I do not pay, they threaten to harm my family, to ruin what little I have built.”

The old man set down his cup with a trembling hand. “I cannot keep paying them, Shinobi-san. They ask for too much; It will ruin me. But if I refuse… I fear what they might do.”

Yuna-sensei’s expression did not change neither did Itachi’s, Tatsuya’s or Kaede’s. However, inwardly, Kaede felt the familiar stirrings of anger. The injustice of it, the arrogance of these men who brazenly oppressed the weak—it was a story she had heard many times before but never personally witnessed herself.

“I understand, Nakamura-san,” Yuna said eventually. “We will take care of it before tomorrow evening.”

Nakamura looked up, surprise and relief mingling in his eyes. “That soon?”

Yuna-sensei nodded once. “Consider it done.”

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An entire country away, Itachi—the real Itachi, not the clone escorting his team on trivial missions in the Land of Fire—arrived at Daigo village, a mountaintop settlement in the Land of Frost that handled many of Kumogakure’s interests in the region.

The mountain air, cold yet thick with the scent of pine and the distant hint of river water, stung at his nasal canal. Amidst the chilling mist, Itachi’s figure wandered—a teen clad in a rough, unassuming kimono. He blended seamlessly with the rural populace.

He was here for one task alone and his gaze rarely strayed far from his target in the distance.

Kumogakure’s Head Ninja laughed boisterously at something whispered too lightly for Itachi to hear from where he stood; his bodyguards smiling faintly despite themselves. It was a picture of power and ease, men who had never known the slow, simmering dread of defeat.

Itachi’s gaze lingered on them, his mind turning over the familiar questions. How far would he have to push before this delicate game between Konoha and Kumo shattered? Both villages had danced around each other for years since the Third Shinobi War, neither willing to make the first real move. The Cold War held, just as it had held for decades in the histories he had studied. Those wars had rarely erupted into flames, smouldering in the dark, threatening but never igniting.

But Kumo was not Konoha. Neither was it Earth. The Raikage would not hesitate to answer a slight with blood, and there would be no long speeches or drawn-out negotiations. Itachi knew this. The memory of the Hyūga Affair burned in his mind. If the Cloud suffered such an insult, there would be no hesitation, no compromise. No retreat into the kind of moral paralysis that defined men like Hiruzen Sarutobi. The Raikage would act. Rashly.

Itachi let the thought sink into him, as cold and inevitable as the air that stung his lungs. He had come for one purpose, and his hand was already hovering over the first domino in this foul contraption of his own making.